Advice from Hitchcock
by Proverbial Pumpkin
Summary: Tohma had done his best to cover things up for Yuki Eiri. But years later when the police get involved, who’s covering for Tohma? Post-anime, KxTohma.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Advice from Hitchcock

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Tohma had done his best to cover things up for Yuki Eiri. But years later when the police get involved, who's covering for Tohma? Post-anime, KxTohma.

**Author's Note:** This story assumes several things (some of which are rather stretched assumptions): K's past in the US Secret Service, his achieved relationship with Tohma which is unfortunately totally not canon, and his relative ignorance of the details of the Yuki (Kitazawa) ordeal.

Now, without further ado…

* * *

You'd think someone like Seguchi Tohma would be up to his ears in the finest food available. You'd think that he'd eat three meals a day at a long oak table with seven courses in front of him and maybe a maid standing by. Maybe that his house would just be one big cornucopia.

"You'd think," I grumbled, hoping I didn't strain anything as I reached all the way to the back of the highest counter in his kitchen. I also hoped nothing was sitting back there ready to bite, because it was too high to see all the way into and damned if I was about to go get a stool. Turned out there was nothing back there at all, or almost anywhere else. That was Tohma's kitchen for you. Stainless steel utilities, immaculate countertops… and the whole thing empty to boot. I managed to find some bread, and carried the bag around with me while I scoured for something else. Cinnamon, no; jelly, no; butter, expired. Sad, sad breakfast. I took out a few slices and shoved two of them in the toaster rack. At least we had coffee.

"Tohma?" I called, then listened. Nothing. I grinned, heisting up the waist of the same pants I'd worn the evening before and heading down the hallway. Back in my apartment early mornings had been for plodding about with no clothes on, but Tohma thought the habit "barbaric" so nudity was pretty much reserved for the bedroom, these days. I opened his door and found him on his bed facing the window, lying in the exact position I'd left him.

Sometimes, I thought my body had trained itself to wake up early just for the sake of moments like these. As if his giant mattress and comforter wouldn't look inviting enough _without_ Tohma slipped in between, asleep. First things first- I slouched over to his table and clicked off his digital alarm. That thing was obnoxious as hell and, as I always said to myself, way less fun than a personal wake up from yours truly. I bent down at his side. The cover was settled half-way over his mouth, his hands fisted into the material against his chest. The man was almost eerily silent when he slept, but I was used to it by now. "Time to get up Tohma," I said. Well, sort of said. I made it more a ghost of a whisper, and I couldn't really even hear myself. Then slowly, I reached down and patted the cover over his shoulder once, as lightly as I possibly could. Then I stood back and waited.

Nothing? _Well, that didn't work!_ I thought gleefully, jogging back around to my side of the bed. He'd commandeered most of the covers to himself while I was gone, and the mattress cover was cold beneath my hands as I crawled over behind him. Much warmer on his side. Propping myself on my left elbow, I leaned over him so I could see his face. He was beautiful. Say what you like about Tohma's calculating mind, and his almost unnerving ability to detach himself from the feelings of others. The man was pretty.

Giving his ear a kiss, I slid my other hand down under the cover and cupped his backside, patting the bare skin a couple times. He shifted a little beneath me, then relaxed. "Tohma," I said.

"Nnn."

"Tohma."

Making another unintelligible sound, he burrowed deeper between his pillow and cover, trying to ignore me. I smiled and bounced the mattress behind him, jostling his form. "Come on. Prepare yourself for the lamest toast you've ever had."

"What?" he mumbled, before deciding he didn't really care and pulling the cover over his head. Whatever he said next was lost in a muffle of cotton and thread.

"I can't hear you, Tohma," I said. As long as he stayed wrapped up and warm like that, he wouldn't budge, and I yanked the cover down his chest.

He gasped a little at the cold air, then turned on his back and shot me a look he couldn't quite pull off effectively at this hour. "I _said_, you go take a shower and I'll get up when the hot water's back." And he turned back over decidedly.

I laughed at that. In the six months I'd been around, Tohma's place hadn't once run out of hot water, even for a few minutes. "How the hell do you always make it to the office so early? Half the time I can't get you _in_ bed, but once you're there you won't get out." I patted the fleshy part of his butt again. "Now come on."

He swatted me away, but finally sat up, still holding the blanket around him as best he could. "Could you please not grope me in the morning, K-san?" he said testily. "Your hands are cold."

"Fine, just get up. I'm sick of wandering around the house by myself, and anyway the music industry awaits." I got off him and started picking up the clothes I'd shucked off the night before- both mine and his. I was in a good mood. "A light is out in your kitchen. I was trying to make breakfast, and failed. So I figure on going by the store sometime. Also, I hope you didn't want me to drive to work today, because I spilled soda all in my car and it's not cleaned yet."

"Would you stop talking at me?" he shot, fumbling around and pulling on clothes. "Who do you think you are, coming in here and going on about lights and driving before I've even-." He stopped. "Wait, _you're_ going to the store?" Somewhat dressed now, Tohma gestured for me to get the corner of his sheets as he made his bed back. "This is my house, K-san. I think I can do my own shopping."

"You can, but you don't," I pointed out, tucking his sheets beneath the mattress. "I don't think it's too much to ask to keep the place stocked with a little food. And don't look at me like I'm being high-maintenance, because I'm not. And anyway, you're the one who asked me to live here."

"Right, throw that in my face," Tohma grumbled, pulling out some clean clothes for work. I took a moment to admire him from behind as he headed towards the bathroom, but then he paused, slacks and undershirt in hand. "Are you burning something?"

"Oh, fuck." The last edible food in the house, and I'd probably burnt it to a crisp.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was still scraping black crap out of the toaster oven. The thing had to have been old as hell; why didn't Tohma just buy one that turned off automatically?

"K-san, your phone is ringing," came Tohma's voice from the bathroom. Cursing again, I wiped my hands on my pants and hurried once more to the bedroom. It took a minute of searching before I found my cell in my work clothes from the day before, and of course by the time I finally shook it out from the mass of wrinkles and folds, the call had gone to my voice mail. Across the hall, the bathroom door was open and Tohma was buttoning his shirt in front of the mirror. "Who was that?" he asked, glancing at me through the doorways. "It's not even eight o'clock."

"Hold on," I said, checking my call.

It was… Ark? _That's surprising_, I thought, passing Tohma in the bathroom as I headed back towards the kitchen. We hadn't talked in months. I dialed him back, rummaging through the drawer for a knife, and then went back to work on the toaster I'd fried.

"K?"

"Ark, what is it? You know it's the crack of dawn over here, right?" I said, making sure the power was off before sticking the knife in between the wire slits.

His voice was rushed. "Listen, K," he said, in a voice that made me set the toaster down. "Judy got a call last night. They wanted you. She said she and you were over, and she wasn't going to deal with it, but I thought you should know…"

"Hey, calm down. Know what?"

"I think something may be about to hit the fan over here. You know your boss, the guy you used to always rag on. What is it…" He sounded like he was flipping through some papers. "Seguchi?"

I snapped to attention, pausing, and then went to the doorway to glance down the hall. Tohma was raking his fingers through his hair as he hit the bathroom light off and crossed back into his room.

"K?"

I lowered my voice. "What about him?"

"One of your old New York friends –Wilkes, from the police- called and apparently there are some queries about your boss. Something from a few years ago, don't ask me what."

"What?!"

"I hardly have any details, man," Ark said. "Anyway, I remembered you hated the guy… Satan, only with less sympathy for mortals, you used to say." His voice sounded amused, but my jaw was too unhinged to set him straight. I guess Ark and I really _had_ lost touch in the last couple years. "It sounds like something happened six or seven years ago, and they want your help, and there's a body involved. Sounds serious, like it could go over bad for your guy Seguchi over there. So I figured I'd give you a heads up, in case you want to help the New York Service guys out. Wasn't sure if you and he were still on competitive terms, if you were hoping to swipe his job some day or not, but I thought you should know either way."

"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "Thanks, Ark. I… I'll look into it. Wilkes, you said?"

"Right."

"Alright, bye."

Perplexed, I turned my phone off and stared at it for a moment. A body. A _body_? I turned back around, about to yell for Tohma, when he appeared in the doorway, looking sleepy.

His hair was still wet from the shower, but he was fully dressed. "Who was that, K-san?" he asked, tucking in his dress shirt. "Why is there a knife in my toaster?" He crossed over to it, irritated, and unplugged the appliance before retrieving his silverware.

"Tohma…"

He turned around at my voice. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Tohma, what happened with you and Yuki Eiri?"

He froze, staring at me, his shirt half-tucked in and half hanging over the waist of his pants. "Excuse me?" he said, his eyes going almost icy, his voice dangerous.

I took a step towards him. "I flew Shuichi away from an apartment in New York myself. Something happened there seven years ago, didn't it? Between you and Yuki Eiri- you've got to tell me exactly what."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, glancing to my phone still in my hand. "Who was that?"

"Tohma…"

"_Why are you asking me this?"_

"Because, Tohma," I said, "you're fucking under investigation."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

1.) That's probably it for Ark- my apologies if he has any particular fans out there, which I don't think he does.

2.) Woohoo for me writing when school's starting! I hope I can reel this one out before the assignments start piling up.

3.) Also, Yuki Eiri fans, don't get too excited. Between Shuichi's clamoring, Tohma's mothering and the fan girls, I think he gets enough attention as is. This is about K and Tohma.

4.) And what's this… _plot?_ Damn, and I usually try so hard to avoid things like that. I did manage to fill my thousand-word quota of irrelevant cuteness though. Sorry, guess I've just got fluff on (or in) the brain.

Eh heh. Li'l joke. Anyway. Next chapter, coming up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Advice from Hitchcock

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Tohma had done his best to cover things up for Yuki Eiri. But years later when the police get involved, who's covering for Tohma? Post-anime, KxTohma.

**Author's Note:** Bet you thought I forgot about this! Onward to chapter ze second ~

* * *

"You're fucking under investigation."

The toaster fell to the floor, clattering against the linoleum.

Tohma's eyes were wide, his voice nearly inaudible. "And Eiri-san?"

"What?" I shook my head. "I don't know. Tohma, are you listening? They're sending over a PI, from New York. Sounds like a _body's_ been found around there." Tohma was paling by the second. "So if you've got something you'd like to fill me in on, about why the New York authorities are linking a seven-year-old body to you… now would be a great time."

Tohma looked like he was about to lose last night's dinner. He really did. I thought he might just sink to the ground where he was, but he made his way towards the table, leaning a hand against the counter on his way before lowering himself into a chair. I followed him, determined to get an answer. He clasped his hands for a moment in front of his face, thinking.

When he opened his eyes again, they were calculating. "Why were you contacted about this?" he asked.

"Wilkes is a former Service man. They want my help in…" Nailing you, I almost said, but for a number of reasons a better phrase seemed in order. "Gathering evidence."

"Against me only?"

"As far as I know."

Tohma leaned back in his seat. "Well that's something," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He took a moment more to process. "What did you tell him?"

"I haven't talked to Wilkes yet. I'm going to tell him he has my full cooperation." Tohma immediately opened his mouth, and I raised a hand to silence him. "And Tohma, you're obviously worried he'll find something. If you don't tell me what exactly that is, I can't make sure he doesn't find it."

I tried to give Tohma a look that said I meant it. Because if he didn't trust I was on his side I might as well move out, and if he wasn't honest with me, he didn't stand a chance against a professional like Wilkes. "So what'll it be?"

Tohma stood up, tucking in the rest of his dress shirt. I couldn't help marveling at how much the man seemed to have aged in the last…. What, two minutes? "Call him," he ordered. "I want to hear."

I shrugged. I hadn't used Wilkes's number since leaving the Service, but it was still in my phone. Tohma was doing an admirable job looking more collected than he really was while it dialed, and I held up the earpiece to listen.

My eyes were still on Tohma when Wilkes picked up. "K, thanks for calling. Are you alone?"

That was the Wilkes I remembered. Gravelly voice, confident and quick. Not the type to waste time on greetings, even years after the friendship, if we both knew why I was calling. "Yeah," I said, putting him on speakerphone. "Now what's this I hear about you throwing my jackass boss in the clinker?"

Tohma looked unnerved. I held up a pointer finger- Don't worry. All part of the act. Some of the most intelligent, penetrating minds in the Service could be fooled by cop speak, by what they thought was a sense of camaraderie, if they're gung ho enough. And Wilkes, if memory served, was just that.

The voice on the other end was excited. "Man, you should have stayed in law enforcement. This is the kind of stuff that makes the job worthwhile. Picture this. Six, seven years ago. Before I even joined the East Coast force. A white male turns up dead around here- shot. So fucked up he doesn't get ID'd for months. A 'Yuki Kitizawa.' Ever heard that name?"

A scratching sound turned my attention back to Tohma for a split second. He'd produced a pad of paper, and was taking fervid notes at the table.

"No."

"Not much linking anyone else to the location once they get a name, and the trail's so cold by then nothing happens anyway. Your man Seguchi'd been living in the city and his name came up in a list of possible suspects when the ID was tentative, but got crossed off with the rest of them. It all goes down in the books as a suicide. Welcome to New Yah'k, right?"

I was watching Tohma.

"Right, buddy?"

Tohma stopped writing to give me a look and a gesture with his pen that said keep going, idiot. I cleared my throat. "Right, Wilkes. City of…" I couldn't think for the life of me what New York was the city of. "Right. So then what?"

"So then, here we go." Wilkes was getting so excited his accent was coming out. I'd forgotten he'd been raised in the South. "Well Kitazawa, his brother's pitchin' a fit all those months, says one of the cleared suspects had a motive and he's dead sure he's guilty. So while the New York team was putterin' around getting the body officially ID'd, this joker's preparing testimonies that your man Seguchi had a motive- that he was jealous as hell of the alleged 'suicide' victim, over- what do you think?"

Tohma's hand went to his forehead, even as he continued to write with the other.

"A love interest! According to him, the only serious conflict Kitazawa had with any of the long-shot suspect list was with your man Seguchi, over some kid. But he couldn't give a name- didn't know any details. Whoever she is, she could be out of the picture now, damn it. Long gone."

Tohma exhaled a breath I didn't realize he'd been keeping.

"So what happened?" I asked Wilkes. "Why all this now?"

He laughed. "What happened was just that this brother's a patient son of'a bitch, and vindictive too. He keeps tabs on your man Seguchi from half-way across the world as best he can for six years, and what happens? Seguchi comes back to America, to New York."

Tohma quit writing and put his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. I swallowed.

"A while ago. Missed a performance with his band, according to our records. Anyway, as soon as his plane had left Japan our little amateur detective was on it. And where do you think Seguchi goes?"

My stomach was in a painful knot. I remembered. I'd been in the city, too, after all, for lighter reasons. Shuichi and I had found Yuki in an abandoned complex- the night had been a staple night in Bad Luck's career. If Tohma had been looking for Yuki Eiri as well…

"He goes _straight_ back to the scene of the crime. Six years later! Kitazawa's brother saw him; he'd been following Seguchi almost since he stepped foot back in the country. I'm looking at a photo right now of Seguchi coming out of the apartment alone, with nothing. Apparently he'd been looking for something he didn't find. And brother caught up to him again the next day, moping around the cemetery where Kitazawa's buried. Another picture." He laughed. "It's just your man Seguchi on his own, but the damn gravestone's right there. Great shot. Honestly," Wilkes said, actually sounding thoughtful, "he looks like he just lost his best friend. I don't know yet what Seguchi was doing back in New York, but it was serious enough for him to not have noticed he was being trailed half the time."

Another glance at Tohma made me really hope this conversation was almost over. I could almost see his mind racing, even as it made him sick. I cleared my throat. "So what do you need from me?"

"Simple," came the answer. "Scrounge up something we can actually use. We don't have any right to detain him as it is, and he's so fucking protected under that fancy studio over there. It'd be easiest if you could trick some sort of confession out of someone who knows him well, or hell- just get him plastered and see if he talks. Assuming he's too smart for that kind of thing, though- we just need you filing through his background."

"What, and that's "simple?" What kind of access to those things do you think I have? I'm just a manager over here, Wilkes. "

"I know," he said, in a pacifying voice. "The noble art of pop music. But you used to be a Service man, K. I know you. If there's any truth to this 'love interest' story, we think you can sniff it out. Find out who she is. At least find out why he went back to New York. And if you can, then we've got a motive and a good chance of nailing him. Tell me you wouldn't benefit if an executive position in that studio of yours didn't suddenly and mysteriously open up?"

Tohma was getting antsy. "Photos," he mouthed to me, pointing at the receiver.

"Alright, Wilkes. Why don't you e-mail me everything you have? Those pictures, and whatever details you have to go on. I'll get on it right away."

"Knew I could count on you, buddy."

Tohma was looking at his notes as I hung up. But he let them fall to the table, and his eyes were tired. I felt about how he looked- a lot can happen in fifteen minutes. "K-san," he said, "who is Wilkes?"

I shrugged. "A guy on the New York force. He's not connected to any of this, just doing his job."

Tohma was fingering his pen. "But he's competent? He'll see this through to get what he wants?"

"…Yes." My voice was quiet. Believe me, I wished the man was an idiot. Tohma nodded and closed his eyes, thinking.

"I have to turn myself in."

My jaw nearly dropped.

"What? Why the- what do you mean?"

"I mean that I have to confess to-"

"I know what you mean," I spat. "Tohma,-"

"No, K-san," he interrupted me. Harshly. "I appreciate your letting me know what's going to happen, and that you're offering to help me." His eyes were going hard, going back to before I mattered. "But I'm not obligated to accept your help, and this has nothing to do with you. I didn't expect this, but I'm going to have to deal with the consequences of what's been done."

"What's been done?" I grabbed his forearm and yanked him around, facing me. "Look at me.- Is it true?"

"…Stop it, K-san."

"Did _you kill_ Yuki Kitazawa?"

When Tohma answered, his voice had a pleading tone I wasn't supposed to hear. "Yes."

"You're lying to me!" I let go of Tohma roughly, frustrated. He didn't speak.

I pulled out a chair and sat down, back slouched, just looking at him. I held up a hand and let it fall. "You can't lie to me about it, Tohma. I'm in on this now and I'm not going to just let you go to prison. So then either you're not going to prison, or I'm going down with you."

His words were infuriatingly set, as he moved next to me. Infuriatingly resigned. "K-san, don't. I'm sorry this came about this way, but it has to happen now. You just don't understand it."

"You're damn right I don't!" I was shouting now, and he started, barely, at my tone. "I _don't_ fucking understand. And if you think you're going to turn yourself in for a murder you didn't commit… If you think you're ending… _us_-" I gestured back and forth between the two of us, "-this way, and if you expect me to just let it happen… You better be able to back it up. You better be able to _make_ me understand. Go."

He literally winced as I spoke. I was hurting him. Well then, it needed to hurt. "K-san, no. It's- it's not my business to tell. It's Eiri-san."

Of course. Of _course_ it was Yuki Eiri. God forbid it be about anything else. I forced the sound of reason into my voice. "Tohma, if Yuki Eiri shot someone seven years go, even if he shot three people seven years ago…he was a minor. Whatever happens won't be as bad as you throwing away the rest of your life."

No answer. I pressed on. "Think what you're doing."

"No." He shook his head, hard. "I've been thinking of what I've been doing for years. There's more."

More. When he finally met my eyes, there was conflict behind them, and eventually I realized. He wanted me to know. He didn't want to tell me, but he wanted me to know.

I leaned forward, put a hand on his leg and he let me. "Tohma, _what_ have you been keeping bottled up all this time?"

He looked at me almost like he was desperate, almost like he loved me, and then he took a breath.

* * *

**A/N:** Eh heh. Whooo.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Advice from Hitchcock

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Tohma had done his best to cover things up for Yuki Eiri. But years later when the police get involved, who's covering for Tohma? Post-anime, KxTohma.

**Author's Note:** This chapter has a little more crazy shit than my usual, particularly towards the middle and end.

Now, without further ado…

* * *

_Eiri had been incoherent. _

The facts were easy enough to patch together, when Tohma got there. The alcohol and gun and... bodies. But Eiri was a wreck and after some terrified sixteen-year-old sobbing, had stopped answering completely. Tohma had let him pretend to talk about other things. And Tohma pretended to listen, but he was more intent on surveying the scene himself, shaking, holding Eiri close to him and covering the boy's eyes while he took in as much as possible. Kitazawa, what was left of the man Tohma had known for years, was half-way across the room. Dead. Tohma closed his eyes for a moment, turned his mind off, and let his brain simply commit the relevant facts to memory. Kitazawa, dead. Tohma could see something was crumpled in his hand.

Eiri had shot three people, none of whom even had guns. Kitazawa was so far away from the others; he wasn't even anywhere close, but shot just as dead. What exactly had happened here?

Tohma waited one night, whisking Eiri away and asking questions only when the boy had had the night to become less hysterical. Did they all hurt you at once, Eiri? he'd said. Eiri, are you listening? I'm not angry with you, just tell me why you killed them _all_.

All he got in response was a mix of syllables and a traumatized look, and Tohma realized that when charged as an adult, triple 'self-defense' could possibly _not_ hold in this nightmare.

I need you to tell me, he'd begged again. And I'll fix everything. I'm so sorry.

"I don't want to tell you things," Eiri had said. "Can't you do it without me?" He was so pale, and his eyes were deceptively bright from Advil. He was exhausted and hurt and just those two sentences were bad for him. He had never been completely healthy.

And so Tohma told him he would. He would make it all disappear, and he would do it alone.

* * *

Tohma went back as soon as he could discretely. Blood, bodies, alcohol, gun. Old furniture askew but that could have been from anything. There was nothing else, nothing traceable. Tohma put two fingers to his forehead and in the middle of the dark apartment he thought, hard.

At first nothing came. He was twenty-six, and his head felt dizzy just from being there. Everywhere were spots of blood, big spots, and moths, and gnats, and open eyes. What he was going to do about the spots and eyes, he didn't know yet. In the confines of a single room, in a cube filled with nothing but a few chairs and a few people, Tohma felt a world of uncertainty. Spinning. Some of the blood was smeared, some of it crusting in even, round pools, and some of it seeped into the wood below. He supposed he'd pull up the planks and simply burn them. In a fireplace, so as not to arouse suspicion.

And the eyes? The dead bodies they stared out from?

Eiri had shot Kitazawa in the head, the other two in the chest. Most of the blood was browning. Kitazawa's gun. Tohma could sterilize it, take off Eiri's prints- make it a double murder, and a suicide? The other two were already haphazardly fallen, and Kitazawa could be arranged.

Tohma could do that. This. He could actually stage it. He grabbed hold of the dead man's wrists, jaw set, and found the paper in Kitazawa's fist was an American bill- a hundred dollars. Almost second-naturedly, Tohma slipped it in his own pocket...

...and realized with a jolt that Eiri had been _paid for_. Tohma frantically threw the wad across the room as if it burned his fingers. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of the two men lying near where he'd found Eiri, and nearly gagged, but he absolutely could not vomit here because there was still work to be done.

Kitazawa's clothes snagged along the splinters as Tohma dragged him a further distance away from the other bodies. The man had been left-handed and the bullet hole was on the same side, so Tohma arranged the gun in front of him, slightly to the left. And what else? Would that be it?

Tohma straightened. What was Kitazawa's relation to these men? How far would police look into a suicide for a motive? Tohma didn't know, but he knew the man was a registered tutor and the relation between him and his tutees was definite and obvious. Somewhere, some employer had Eiri's name on a list of Kitazawa's students. Would it come up?

Tohma's head whirled. Of _course_ it would, and Yuki could barely handle questioning from Tohma- let alone keep quiet to the authorities. This wasn't going to be enough.

He sat with his back against the peeling wall for a moment. It was then, there, that Tohma made the first gruesome decision of his life: These bodies had to be made unidentifiable.

Properly equipped less than an hour later, Tohma tackled the teeth first. And only then, he felt the threat of tears in the corner of his eyes for the first time. He'd felt like the air had been knocked out of him when he saw Eiri on his knees on the floor, and he'd thought he may actually vomit as he listened and watched the boy sputter out what happened... but only now, with his fingers losing their grip on the mortar slab and the cold moisture left on the inside of Kitazawa's mouth sticky against the back of his hand, did Tohma begin to cry as he worked. The salt in his eyes angered him, got in his way. He wondered if he was losing it. Eiri's life could well be shattered, Tohma had been far, far too late, the one man Tohma had trusted with Eiri had knocked his world off-hinge, and now his _damn teeth wouldn't crush_. The drying blood on the side of Kitazawa's head was smearing in streaks from his hair onto the sheet... burned, all of it would have to be burned.

Tohma rocked back on his heels for a moment to breathe in air that hadn't been hovering stagnant over the body for the past twelve hours. It was still wretched. Tohma stood up shakily. The mortar fell from his hands- he'd finish in a moment. How long could he leave Eiri alone? Not long.

Back to the teeth. Tohma knelt back down, and desperately wanted to open a window, but the smothering stench would escape. Tohma breathed through his mouth and doubled his efforts. The fingers and toes were next.

The fingers. He used a simple lighter. That was when he realized something inside him really had twisted and was settling warped. Keeping an eye on the time – Eiri would be awake in an hour or so – Tohma watched Kitazawa's digits burn off his limbs. He hadn't known how it would work, if the ridges on the tips of his fingers would melt and ooze down the fingers like wax, or if the whole hand would catch fire and Tohma would be left stomping out the smoldering ashes, bones cracking against each other beneath his sneakers.

If they'd been on a lower floor, if Tohma had found even the slightest realistic escape route, he definitely would have just set fire to the whole room. Nevermind that the building was unstable and there were hobos on the first floor. In fact, _damn_ the hobos on the first floor; anything would be better than this.

On the other hand, Tohma couldn't imagine any better penance. The fingers didn't turn red and ooze together. They turned dark, darker, black and charred, and then wrinkled in on themselves like he was burning paper, with only a little pus appearing between the crisped skin and the healthy skin below. Tohma did each fingertip one at a time, watching. He was less awed with the toes, now that he knew he could keep the flame under control.

And he was determined to keep it all under control. That horrid spinning he'd felt amidst the eyes and broken bottles and the memory of Eiri kneeled on the floor was not a feeling Tohma ever intended to feel again. Off went the shoes, and the socks, and with patience and care he was able to scorch and crinkle all five digits at once.

Here was a person and friend, and now a cadaver.

The face wasn't hard to disfigure, which was good because Tohma didn't have the energy to exert the same amount of effort he'd put into pulverizing the teeth. And it was fortunate that this had so irrevocably ceased to be Kitazawa Yuki, friend and mentor. Tohma dealt only with the remains of a sick man. And if they must be dealt with, they would be thoroughly. Everything thorough, everything controlled.

Tohma checked his watch. Not all tonight, though. He was so close to being done, but he'd risk six or seven hours. What mattered even more than the bodies was that Tohma was there when Eiri woke up, to keep him safe and together. He'd need help.

Tohma closed the door as tightly as he could on his way out, in case there were animals around.

Medical and professional help. How would Tohma pay for it all? He had the money, but not un-scrutinized access to any substantial bank account. He needed cash without people knowing. His keyboard, maybe- that would buy Eiri an examination, maybe a couple sessions with a tight-lipped psychiatrist. If Eiri wanted. Whatever Eiri wanted.

Tonight he'd leave Kitazawa, destroy their wallets and buy some old clothes from a thrift store, and tend to Eiri. Tomorrow he'd dress them, burn their richer, identifiable clothes, and bury the bodies in a nearby town, a bad town where no one would look too far into the remains if they were eventually found. With any luck they'd be decomposed by the time that happened, but the mortar and lighter had proven valuable insurance. Tohma prayed it was enough to make it disappear. And Eiri could move on, and pretend nothing happened if he wanted, and Tohma would take care of him until Eiri didn't care anymore that it was Tohma's fault.

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End Ch. 3

**A/N:** Yeah, this fic is headed all over the place. Anyway, while feedback is always appreciated, I'm going to respectfully ask that readers don't respond simply to say "NUH-UH THAT CAN'T BE RIGHT BECAUSE..." unless it's something I really should know. I know it's not right. I know my logic here is stretched and wonky, and that there was a head stone for Kit's body, and it was actually more like ten dollars, not a hundred. (Seriously, ten bucks? Wtf.) If you're after an air-tight plot, my only regret is that it wasn't clear before now that this isn't the story for you. To those willing to go with the flow on this one for the sake of Tohma fic... bless you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Advice from Hitchcock

**Author:** Proverbial Pumpkin

**Summary:** Tohma had done his best to cover things up for Yuki Eiri. But years later when the police get involved, who's covering for Tohma? Post-anime, KxTohma.

**Author's Note:** Oh my God, WHAT. So this is a short chapter because it's K's reaction to everything that happened in the last one.

* * *

"Tohma, I know you were younger... but that's what I'd call a huge lapse in judgment."

He didn't answer me immediately. The details had drained him. He didn't even remark on the time when he glanced at the microwave clock. The fact that work had even occurred to him baffled me, but there were some things about Tohma I'd come to accept. "You don't know Eiri-san," he said. "And you certainly can't know how he was then. He wasn't well, he wasn't... healthy." Tohma was remembering, his eyebrows just furrowed. "Of course he couldn't be locked up for killing Kitizawa, not if what he did told me was true. And it was. But the other men? It would warrant a serious investigation." He turned and addressed me squarely now. "Inquiries, interrogations, checking into his family. I didn't know your country, I didn't know if he'd get off for all three. And I didn't exactly have time to research, did I? But I knew what the process would do to him. I've seen what happens when people worm their way into Eiri-san's head."

I stood up from the table, trying to imagine a sixteen-year-old, unstable, raped, and interrogated, made to sit through re-enactment staging and legal proceedings while panels of American strangers decided what would be done with him. I sighed. Tohma was right – I couldn't quite know. Violence and suspects had been part of my routine in America, and all I knew of Yuki Eiri was the asshole who blew Tohma off and was responsible for most of the moods of my vocalist. Tohma was watching me.

"Okay," I said finally. "What'd you do next?"

"I got him away," Tohma said, and there was some satisfaction in his expression that dissipated immediately. "And I took him to a physician here, and offered to pay for a... a psychiatrist, anything he wanted. He said no. For over a year he said no, until I let it go. Eiri-san never got proper help, never spoke with a proper doctor. And now... he's the way he is." Tohma looked at his watch again suddenly. "You should call Sakano-san and tell him you're running late. We can finish this tonight."

I ignored him, sitting back down. "I should go pull up the e-mail Wilkes sent me."

He was not pleased. "Didn't you hear me? We have to-"

"I heard you," I answered. "It was one of the stupidest things you've ever said. We're having this out now. So." I strummed my fingertips once on the table top. "You're sure you did the right thing."

Tohma was getting irritated with defending himself. "He needed time he wasn't going to get with your legal system after him, whether they were on his side or not. Eiri-san had six years before Shindou-san came along, and sometimes I don't even think that was long enough. And I've seen Eiri-san abandon too many relationships, go through too much alcohol and cigarettes, and cough up too much blood to have to answer to you. I don't even want them to come across his name. I go, they're happy to get me, Eiri doesn't even come into it." Tohma had pulled out his phone.

Oh fucking hell. He was not about to turn himself in at our – his – kitchen table. "Give me that!" I said, snatching it out of his hands.

"I'm texting Sakano-san that we're late!"

Ah. I cleared my throat. "Well, there's a problem with your plan. It won't go through."

"You heard Wilkes-sama." He butchered the name. "They want me. If I come forward, they're not going to start looking for ways I might be innocent."

"No," I said plainly. "But even if you knocked me out or locked me in a closet and actually turned yourself in, I would never let it stick, not for two days. Knowing that it wasn't even you."

He stared at me. It was the simple truth. I'd bring Yuki Eiri down and risk Tohma hating me forever before I let him take the fall for this.

"K-san..." He sounded insulted, something between angry and betrayed. "I've never told anyone the things I did back then. Not even Eiri-san. I'm telling you in the strictest confidence."

"Fine. Then I'll take it to my grave, so long as you don't run off and try to go to prison like an idiot."

Definitely insulted, definitely angry. Well, tough, I wasn't going to lie about what I would and wouldn't do for him. "If you don't pretend you killed those men, I'll help keep the New York police away from you. And Yuki Eiri if I can. And then I'll forget everything you've said, if that's what you want. But if you make one move towards the authorities... I'll turn him in so fast, he won't have time to save his cheesy romance book Word document."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"In a twisted, saving-your-neck kind of way, yes. You can be pissed, but I don't care if he has ulcers or heart failure or whatever the hell's wrong with him. The idea of you being tried as an adult for something he did as a minor is nuts."

He didn't answer at first, didn't hit me over the head with the kitchen chair like I thought he might. I wasn't clear if I'd reached him, or if he knew I had his hands tied. Maybe he was thinking of NG, of his band. But eventually, he looked at me evenly and said, "alright, Secret Service. What do we do?"

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**A/N**: I know, just a little set-up. Also, I just noticed someone in Indonesia has looked at my profile 19 times this month. Welcome, but I'm confused. Lastly, this fic is finally closing in on the view count for my plotless M-rated one-shot! I'd forgotten how much fun ff net stats are.


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